My eyes widened. I hadn't expected Jax to be so coherent. Or so angry. "I'm sorry," I cut in quickly. "It's like I said, he's been a little overserved. It's been hard enough just getting him back home, so if you could do us a huge favor and just . . . don't tell anyone we were here. We just want to get some sleep."

Gus's face softened, and he shook his head with a smile.

"I guess you're only young once," he said, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. Have a good night, you two."

Numb from the shock of the night, all I could do was nod and smile weakly.

Gus pressed a button on the panel in front of him, and the gates opened wide. "Make sure he drinks plenty of water," he chuckled. "The morning after's a bitch!"

I looked back to give him a half-hearted grin, then turned to see where we were going.

It was only as we saw the bus across the lot that I finally felt my sense of impending doom lift. There it was, in all its glory: a triple-decker touring band's dream, complete with rooftop hot tub. When we drove behind the bus and saw the black-and-gold storage trailer, I realized I could finally feel my hands again.

I'd been taking things a moment at a time since getting on the bike, but the enormity of what I'd done hit me with full force as my breathing started to return to normal. God, it could have been so much worse. If the flames from the bottle hadn't reached the Reapers' bikes or the car . . .

Shaking my head at the grim thought, I pulled the bike into the trailer. So far, the Reapers were nowhere to be found. They hadn't followed us from what I could tell, and even if they had, there was security around the area, and the bus was like a triple-decker tank with its bullet-proof windows. We were in safe territory.

"Almost there, Jax," I said softly as I got off the bike. "We just have to get back on the bus."

The bus. I swallowed hard. Shit. The rest of the band. They were probably waiting for us, and they weren't going to let us get away with a couple of easy cracks about falling on a sidewalk.

I draped Jax's arm around my shoulder. "Let me help you."

He bristled, trying to move away. "I'm okay. Don't worry about me."

I could tell he was covering up pain. But then again, after the night we'd had, he'd have to be. I bit my lip and helped him limp toward the bus door.

My stomach was doing backflips as I tried to figure out what to say to Sky, Chewie, and Kev that could possibly explain Jax's injuries. Already, his face swelled with bruises. How could I face them and tell them what happened? I'd been helpless, defeated. We both had. The band would feel guilty, sad, maybe deceived—I had no idea which.

Bracing for the worst, I turned the key and the door popped open.

Inside, there was nothing but total darkness. I reached up for a light switch, worrying about what to say. With a wince, I held my breath and flipped the switch for the auxiliary lights.

There was a mess of clothes on the ground, a bag of weed on the table, and Chewie's ghost detector lying on the couch, but no one was around.

"Where is everyone?" I said, confused.

I followed my nose to find Chewie's half-smoked blunt on the living room table, next to a folded note:

Party at Lizzie Boham's house. If you two horndogs ever get back from wherever you went to do the nasty, meet us there.

- The Chewster

In the front room, Jax was still looking for the rest of the band. "Sky? Chewie?" he said.

"Over here," I called to him.

Jax walked stiffly into the living room.

I held up Chewie's note. "Look at this. They're all gone. They're not even here. It's . . . it's . . ."

Jax scanned over the note, and one corner of his lip turned up wryly. It wasn't exactly a smile, but it was something.

After all the terrible, traumatic things that had happened tonight, something had gone right.

A sound started from the back of my throat, and I held it back for a moment, expecting sobs. Instead, when I opened my mouth, a laugh came out—a sad, relieved, quaking laugh that shook my entire body.

It's going to be okay. We're not going to die. I'm not going to jail. We're going to survive.

I doubled over, unable to stop laughing. Too overwhelmed to speak, I gasped in big lungfuls of air, tears rolling down my cheeks as pained laughter poured from me. I was alive, and so was Jax—and for the moment, that was all I needed.

Chapter Two

DAMAGED

As I struggled to control my laughter and tears, Jax broke into a raspy, hacking cough. The sound came from deep in his lungs, and he leaned against the couch as he struggled to catch his breath.

My laughter cut off mid-breath as I snapped back to reality. "Jax!" I cried.

"I'm fine," he answered. He straightened with a grimace, wheezing in air before letting out another, smaller cough.

I narrowed my eyes in concern. As I scanned his body for wounds, he tilted his head away from my gaze. A patch of crimson glinted from beneath his hair.

"Stay right there," I said, pulse racing. "Actually, no. Sit down on the couch."

As he lowered himself gingerly onto the couch, pushing the ghost detector aside as he did so, I snapped on the bright overhead lights. Jax groaned and squinted, his hand reaching up to shield his face from the glare, while I stepped toward the couch to take a closer look.

What I saw made my stomach turn.

Blood caked over the side of his scalp, crusting and darkened at the edges.

I swallowed, trying not to let Jax see how scared I was. The terrifying memory flashed behind my eyes: Darrel slamming the butt of a pistol against the back of Jax's head, leaving him laid out on the street. I'd never seen someone beaten so badly before. I couldn't imagine the pain he must be in. Or how badly his whole body might be damaged.

In a fit of irrationality, I quickly snapped the light off again, as if blanketing the wound in darkness would somehow take it back to the way it was before I'd seen how bad it was in full light. I had to fight hard against my instinct to take him to the hospital right away. From the way he responded to the guard, I knew Jax was already irritable. If I suggested he needed serious care before even taking a closer look, he'd get stubborn—and that was the last thing either of us needed when the stakes were so high.

"I'll be right back," I said, careful to keep my voice from trembling.

My heart beat anxiously and my hands shook as I ran hot water from the bathroom tap onto a clean washcloth, then brought it back out to Jax.

I turned the light back on before approaching him. He hadn't moved a muscle, and was sitting tiredly on the couch.

"I need to clean this out a little bit," I said softly. "I'm going to try not to hurt you . . . but it looks bad. I can't promise anything."

"Give me that," he said as he grabbed for the washcloth.

I pulled the cloth out of his reach, not surprised by his response. Jax was trying to be tough, but the wound was on his head. He couldn't possibly see it well enough to clean it properly. "Let me. Really," I offered, trying to figure out a way to assuage my worries without wounding his pride. "You helped me clean up when those guys chased us onto the bus, remember? I'm just returning the favor."

His mouth stretched to a thin line, as though he was formulating an objection. But then he closed his eyes and nodded, his body relaxing into the couch.